


Terminal D

by Jokess



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Character Study, Death, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24413143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jokess/pseuds/Jokess
Summary: Alpha Bro, on the eve of his death, finds a spaceship. He reminisces, regrets and rebels. Light Alpha Rose inclusion.
Relationships: Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider & Roxy's Mom | Alpha Rose Lalonde
Kudos: 4





	Terminal D

“It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression, ‘As pretty as an airport.’ so why are you so beautiful.” Dave mused as he ran his hand over the cool metal side of the battleship. The sleek red spaceship, so ordinary looking despite its cruel spires and mounted, alien laser turrets, was no airport or even airplane like his beloved Davesprite, but he reckoned the expression fit anyway because the no doubt ancient ship was docked at an airport. It was a little private affair nestled in the hills of the Hills, but wholly abandoned and already starting to overgrow. He wondered if that was because the ship’s occupant had killed everyone here or because they’d fled for greener pastures once she declared her presence just a year ago.

Ultimately he figured the answer was both and neither. The ship wasn’t just nestled in the abandoned airport but buried in it. Garbage ranging from discarded steelwork to literal shit had covered it from head to toe, or starboard to port he supposed, and he’d found it in a tiny corner not even cordoned off by ‘Do No Trespass’ signs despite being an alien ship. There was no doubt in his mind he was the first to see it and now, likely the last. Oh, the world would continue without him, he wasn’t near so important that it’d stop turning just because he was going to die for killing a couple of presidents, but after today the Condesce would have no thorn in her side to distract her. She’d flood the planet, and her unfairly gorgeous ship would be drowned by her manifest destiny. He supposed there was a sort of drama, poetry, dare he think; some irony found in that. The alien empress, the fishy alien empress, drowning a part of herself. He wished he could live to see that. Fuck, he wished he could live one more day at all. But life was not fair, and Grim was already dead or soon going to be, and he didn’t want to live without her.

How stupid he was, so dependent on nothing but a dumb ole’ sister that he’d take himself to the grave were the batterbitch to somehow fuck up. But she had drawn him pictures. She’d, to the best of her ability, let him see Dirk and Roxy. How could he not love her when he already loved roughly drawn concepts of people he’d never meet? How could he not love his sister, both found family and weirdly related to him as she was? Seriously how could he not because he could do with a little less love right now.

His hand turned fist, and he pounded it against the unyielding metal. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to think this stupid piece of crap was beautiful. He didn’t want to love his sister. He didn’t want the whole fucking world thinking he loved her any other way than that: A sister. He didn’t want her to die. He didn’t want to lose. He didn’t want to die. But he did, she did, they did, she was, he was and would. There was no way around a word of it, and there’d not been since the first day a thirteen-year-old Rose had shown up at his door in Texas, a sad smile on her face and sword on her hip. She’d asked him if he had any knitting needles she could borrow, she needed a pair for a fifteen-year project. He’d have called her crazy, but then she’d asked a simple question.

_ “How old are you.”  
_ _ “Six sweeps, 288 perigees, 160 months or 13 years, more or less."  
_ _ “It’s good to see you for the very first time again, Dave. Do you have any questions.”  
_ _ “Yeah, what in the ever-loving tarnation is a fucking sweep and perigee. That is such a bullshit unit of time, who the fuck hs ever heard of putting twenty-six months in a year...fuck. Scratch that, better question, why in the ever-loving tarnation do I know what any of all that is because let me tell you, dude, I had no clue what any of that time conversion shit was until it popped out of my mouth.” _

_ "I’m afraid I don’t know that, and I don’t see any answers to why in our future, but we’re going to need it. Something important is going to happen, is happening, and I can only see fleeting glimpses of them. Images, knowledge detached from time, but so intricately woven into relevance that I believe our deaths are tied to a reality spanning chain of events.”  
  
_ _ “April 13, 2025. That’s the day we die.” _

_ Well fuck, now wasn’t that one hell of a thing. _

_ “Well fuck, isn’t that one hell of a thing. I’m not going to live to see 14.”  
_ _ “Sweeps?”  
_ _ “Yeah, and fuck, I hate that already so fuck you very much weird, yandere stalker, fangirl.”   
_ _ “I prefer Annie Wilkes, but Rose Lalonde will do just as well. May I come in?” _

“Now look who is the weird, yandere stalker fangirl. I prefer D Strider, but Dave Strider will do just as well. May I come in, because fuck the jet skateboard, I’m riding the battleship to my doom.”

There was no expression which went, “As pretty as an airport,” but that was okay, death wasn’t supposed to be pretty. And while the battleship was beautiful in its horror, it was nothing a few dents and smattering of bird shit couldn’t fix. He still didn’t want to die, but if he got this hunk of junk out of here, maybe the airport it had crashed in could be pretty as one could get. That was something, right? Yeah, had to be, because nowhere in any language did the phrase, “Pretty as Dave Strider,” exist.

He was the airport, abandoned by all except Rose, who’d first knocked on his door with a sword on her hip. How better to end everything than with a knock and sword of his own. He rapped his fingers against the metal.

“How old are you?” He asked the ship. “1025 sweeps, 49,200 perigees, 27,333 months or 2220 years, more or less. Fuck, that’s a long time. Aight then bro, guess it’s boarding time at terminal D, all aboard the let’s get you wrecked by shit express. Come on boys, we’ve got an alien chevy, a levy, and this is the day that we die. Alexa, play Despacito.”  
  
She did. They did. He died. They died. It was as pretty as an airport and a crimson red battleship covered in birdshit and dents


End file.
